Revenge
by EricaLumiere
Summary: A prequel to the movie. With Riddick and Johns, it's personal.


"Abigail. Here."

She spun on her heel, raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired young man who'd tried sneaking up behind her. Unfortunately for him, he always tried sneaking up behind her, and it no longer startled her when he appeared out of thin air. "Whaaaat?" she whined, jokingly.

"Take it," he thrust out a small box, something that jewelry would come in, perhaps.

"Uh, you proposing or something?" Her perfectly, and naturally, thin eyebrow stayed where it was – halfway up her forehead. Her perfect lips went into a sneer in for good measure.

He snorted. "What! Marry you? I laugh." His hand ran through his hair and he chuckled.

"Yea, yea…" Abigail pinched his cheek and he grinned, watched her face as she opened the box. "Richard! Thank you!" she cried, throwing her arms around him.

"I thought you'd like it," he hugged her back, gently.

"I love it." An even bigger smile spread across her face as she slid the ring onto her right-hand ring finger; it was the only one it would fit properly on. She admired the tiny dark blue and purple jewels that glittered across the thin gold band.

He grinned, leaned against her locker, closing it. She didn't have all her school books for the next class out, but she wasn't paying attention. "Why'd you get it for me?" Quizzical.

"Serious?"

"Yeah." She held her hand up to the light; harsh and florescent.

"Well, 'sides the fact that you're my best friend in the whole," he paused to kiss her cheek and she ruffled his hair in reply, "and besides the fact that it's your birthday, I l-"

"I'm-sorry-it's-what?" Abigail's attention turned from her ring to him again.

"Your birthday."

"Is it really?"

"Wow."

"Yes."

"Um… Thanks!"

"Happy birthday, Abs."

It was her turn to give a peck on the cheek.

* * *

Three years later, and the ring had stayed on her finger everyday. She may have taken it off to shower, but she never told him. At the sweet age of fourteen, she'd never asked Richard how he could have afforded something so expensive, and as time passed, some of his "career choices" made it clear how he came by the money to get it. He said he was "in the trades" and that was more than she wanted to know. She never said anything when he showed up in the middle of the night because he had nowhere safe to go; never said anything when she had to sew up knife wounds or pay his bail; she never said anything at all.

Nevertheless, they were best friends and she loved him more than anyone in the world (even her parents, who were always travelling, doing charity work, exploring the galaxy; all that never-there-for-your-kids bullshit), and forgave every sin he'd ever committed (including asking that _whore_ Trisha Altair to the high school dance when the two of them had had a fight one day when they were fifteen. He'd apologized by showing up at her house with flowers; they were never an official couple, but everyone was waiting for inevitable marriage proposal).

"You coming?" Richard yelled down the school hallway. How he hated this place. He'd much rather just work, but when he mentioned dropping out to Abigail, she had—to put it nicely— _freaked out_ on him. So he stayed, working after school for a few hours, and then on weekends. She, on the other hand, studied hard in her spare time, believing her education would get her anywhere she wanted to go. She wasn't worried about money; a rich-kid thing.

"One sec!" Her locker door slammed shut and she jogged over to join him, standing in the doorway of his next class. "Whaddya want?" She tossed her long hair over her shoulder with a quick flick of her head.

"What're you talking about? I never said I wanted you." His face was serious but she knew he wasn't.

"Well, Richard, you never said you didn't," she teased back.

"You're a couple chocolate chips short of a cookie if you think I wanna get anywhere near you," he mimicked her now-signature sneer.

"I get it from you."

The bell rang, and kids around them scurried, filing into rooms.

"It's an STD, babe, it's obviously not from me."

"Uck." Her face screwed up in disgust. "C'mon, your teacher hasn't shown up yet, let's bail before she gets here."

Richard glanced over his shoulder, took her books from her and tossed them in his bag, and they headed down the hallway towards an exit. He certainly wasn't going to pass up a school-free afternoon if he had Abigail's permission. "Where we gonna go?"

"To the movies," Abigail suggested, linking her arm in his as they headed down the sidewalk, past the fences, off of school grounds.

"Ooh, so we can make out?" he looked interested.

"You're so pathetic," she whined.

He took her hand, tried swinging it, but their arms were still intertwined. "Ab…"

"Hmm?" They usually didn't talk when they walked through town; both liked a bit of peace and quiet (as much as you could get in town) to think, and it was also terribly noisy from all the traffic and pedestrians winding their way through streets and shops.

Richard watched an old couple hobble towards them, holding hands, looking entirely peaceful and happy despite the hubbub around them. His grip tightened on his friend.

"Mmm… What movie do you wanna see?"

"Oh," he thought she sounded a little disappointed. "The new one with that guy in it?"

"Gross. He's a hunk, right?"

"Yup."

"Woman's movie?" His deep voice was still sexy, even when he whined.

"No!"

"Horror?"

"Yup."

"What's it about?"

"Uhm, these people go on a trip through space, crash land on an alien planet, and struggle for survival. Sound alright?"

"Yes, mistress."

* * *

Their feet were up on the seats in front of them. In an otherwise-empty theatre, there wasn't going to be a problem with this. Richard stretched his arms out on the seats on either side of him; Abigail was to his right, working away on a bucket of popcorn. He faked a yawn and rested his hand on her shoulder.  
"Corny, Dick, very corny."

"It works though; I read it in some girl magazine I found at your place."

"Liar."

"Nope. You have a stack of girly mags. They sicken me, but I kinda like the ads."

"Shut up, the movie's starting," she ignored his jests; he always joked about her being a very stereotypical woman; she liked sewing, clothes, cooking, and – as he put it – "being pretty." The popcorn bag in one hand, she inched closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

* * *

After the movie, they'd made their way back to her house. Richard's place was a small one-room apartment, a "shit-hole" to hear him describe it; rent paid for by his mysterious and painful job, just a few blocks from the mansion Abigail resided in. Her parents were millionaires, details as to how weren't talked about, and she was lucky to see them once a year. Bills were set up to be paid monthly out of some account, and there were at least two more accounts with money just for her. She always told Richard to live here, with her, there were two rooms he could pick from, but he refused. He said it would be too risky because of his job. Nevertheless, he was almost never at his own home.

Cooking dinner and goofing around in the kitchen, as per their usual evening routine when he wasn't working, bumping into each other, wrestling, even biting each other; all was the norm. They'd yet to declare their love for one another, or even kiss, but it was definitely more than friendship keeping them together. Richard would come over in the middle of the night (via the basement window on the far side of the house, where the bushes grew thickest; it was never locked) and slink into her bed, so they could wake up together, arms wound around one another, when he was feeling particularly in love with her. Not that he would ever admit it. He said he showed up because he didn't like her being alone all night, all the time.  
"That was a good movie, eh," Abigail commented, stirring the pot of noodles on the stove, looking up at her friend to see if he agreed.

"Yeah, but I don't see why the captain had to die. She was hot," he sighed sadly and dramatically, jumping up to sit on the granite countertop. He showed the most emotion when the two of them were alone, safe in her house.

"She died _because_ she was hot. All the hot women die. Haven't you noticed that yet?"

"That's horrible! But it does explain why you're still here."

She smacked him on the arm with the spoon. He made a face at the warm sauce on his arm. He was about to retaliate when there was a knock on the door. Their eyes met; unannounced visitors were uncommon during the week.

"I'll get it," he dropped into the floor, his face serious. He'd gone into protector-mode.

"Aw, Rich, I can get it. Here, watch the food. I'm sure it's no one," she pushed the spoon into his hand and left the kitchen, but she knew he would follow.

The front lights were on, and she peeked through the foyer windows. A young blonde man stood there. Refraining from rolling her eyes, she opened the door. "Hey, William."

"Hello, Abigail." His eyes flickered; Richard was standing silently, a couple feet behind Abigail. His eyes narrowed.

"What's up?" she tried to remain casual, but in fact, she hated William. William Johns. His family was just as rich as hers, but he was a spoiled snob, and some serious degree of alcoholic. He was a jock, a genius, gorgeous, could do anything he wanted or get any girl he wanted… And he'd chosen Abigail. Somehow, he thought persistence was the way to win her. Flowers, cards, candy, even vacation offers—nothing worked but he didn't give up. She figured his mother hadn't loved him enough as a child, and he was trying to find love somewhere else.

"I've come to take you to dinner." Very matter-of-factly. She'd gone out with him a few times when they were younger, but she despised being alone with him. She always had to see him at school and community functions, and did her best to avoid him. But she was done being polite. Richard was, too, and had used his fists to get that point across at least once (that Abigail knew of) to tell William so.

"I had a big lunch. Thanks, anyway." One slender hand was holding onto the doorknob.

"Well, we don't have to eat just yet," he looked her up and down; his eyes were bloodshot.

Richard started behind her. The hand not on the door flew back and landed gently on his stomach; he stopped. Her hand didn't move.

"I'm a lesbian, I've told you before." _Disgusting. He fucks all the girls in our grade, and half the ones younger than us, and still thinks I'll come any closer to him than this?_

"We could fix that, couldn't we?" he asked suggestively, grinning as if he were king of the world.

Richard nearly growled. He knew even more about William and his despicable actions than Abigail, and it infuriated him that William wouldn't give up on this. Abs' hand pressed harder into him as he inched forward. "Get the fu-"

The only fight Abigail wanted was a play-fight between her and her best friend. "I'm fine with my choices, thanks," and the door slammed. Richard reached one hand for the knob, but now her other hand was stopping him as well. "Let it go." Her eyes locked with his, narrowed. "Just forget about it."

He sneered, reached past her again, and locked the door.

* * *

They both sat on the counter now, one on either side of the stove. Abigail's attention was focused on stirring the noodles and sauce. Richard was glaring and watching her.

"He's asking me out less and less, Richie, don't get so upset all the time."

"He's a fucking pig."

"He's an idiot. He'll figure it out sooner or later though, that he can't have me."

"'Cause you're mine."

Her eyes snapped up. "Don't play the alpha male."

A moment passed. He took a breath to calm himself; rolled his eyes. "Alpha male gets laid, so we know I'm not." It was his attempt at a joke, to break the tension.

She smiled, hopped off the counter, turned off the burners. "Set the table, will you?"

There were only two rules at mealtimes; you give thanks before you eat, and you do not argue. Of course, with the lack of any other rules whatsoever, there were often food fights, burping contests, food being eaten in any room of the house, and all sorts of strange games played with food that one could imagine.

After eating dinner and washing the dishes, they ended up in her room, doing homework. Richard copied his answers off Abigail; she said nothing. They were sitting side-by-side on her extravagant queen-size bed, in all its soft, thick-blanketed glory, school-books spread out around them. A local radio station played softly in the background; they left it on to study, and Abigail liked to listen to music as she fell asleep. He quickly bored, though, and doodled spaceships in the margin of his hardly-touched essay. He drew Abigail as a space monster, jumping up and down on the top of a teeny planet.

She smiled when she saw it. "Wanna sleep over?" She closed her book, tossed her papers on the floor. He never accepted the offer (he'd sneak back in later, when he'd been home for a while and couldn't sleep), but she always asked.

"Yeah." He smiled, showing his teeth.

Her heart almost stopped, she was sure it was evident in her surprised look. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you know the rule." Kicking the rest of their school things onto the floor, he stripped down to his underwear (for lack of pajamas, and refusal to wear anything even resembling them) and pretended to not peek as she changed into pj pants and a camisole.

Clicking the lights off, they crawled under the covers, making sure the alarm was set for school the next morning.

"Quit fidgeting."

"Stop tickling me!"

"Liar." He blew on her neck.

"That counts!"

"Oh, it does not," he feigned a disgusted tone.

"Does too," she pouted. He knew exactly how adorable she looked when she pouted, and he smiled, blowing in her ear this time.

She pulled her hair over her neck. "Asshole."

"Love you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Love you, too."

He pulled her close as he could, rested his check against hers. They fell asleep.

* * *

Nothing felt awkward the next morning. Richard woke up before the alarm, still spooning her, kissed her cheek. She was already awake; she smiled and kissed him back.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, closing his eyes and burying his face in her neck.

"What d'yo want for breakfast?"

"You."

"Eggs n' bacon?"

"'Kay."

Richard had to work after school, but they both knew he'd be over afterwards.

* * *

He walked her outside when the final bell rang. He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her, kissed the top of her head. He loved the way she felt; the way she smiled and gave an almost-inaudible sigh when he kissed her now. It felt like he'd been waiting forever for this.

"You gotta go." The peace was broken, but Abigail was a stickler for being on time.

"Mhmm," he kissed her ear. "I'll see you later."

There was an unspoken pact that they wouldn't use the L-word in public; Abigail wasn't ready for it, and Richard just wasn't the sort to not be embarrassed, as tough as he was.

He squeezed her one last time, and walked away. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as her girlfriends came over to divulge the daily gossip.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when he crawled through the window, and dashed to punch in the code for the alarm. Funny, it was already unarmed. "Guess she forgot to set it." A jolt went through him but he ignored it, headed upstairs.

Something didn't feel right.

Silent as always when he walked around the house at night, he bumped into an armchair. It shouldn't be there. He edged around it, headed to the top floor, to Abigail's bedroom.

Her curtains were open, and the moonlight revealed that no one was in the room.

Turning on the light, he saw her schoolbag sitting on the floor. She _always_ left all her books spread out on the floor until the morning, in case she wanted to review or add anything to her work before school.

_She should be here; she's never stayed out late on a school night._ His heartbeat quickened. His eyes were blazing. If she had gone somewhere, she would have left a note. He crossed the room, picked up the phone, and dialed her mobile number. He heard it ring on the other end… and then from downstairs.

Richard thundered down the stairs, barely managing to turn on light switches as he went. Furious and terrified, he almost had a heart attack when the lights came on in the living room.

"Hey, buddy."

If his eyes could narrow anymore… "What the fuck are you doing here?"

William smirked. "Oh, she invited me in." His was relaxed on the couch, holding a package of cigarettes. He held one, unlit, in his clumsy hand. An empty bottle of something that had been alcohol stood on the floor by his feet.

The dark-haired boy took a few steps closer.

William knew what was coming. "She's not here!" He grinned. There was no telling if that bottle on the floor was his first or second of the afternoon.

"Where?"

"I fucking sent her away!" he let out a high-pitched laugh; completely idiotic.

Abigail had bought Richard a very nice, very expensive hunting knife for his 17th birthday; he kept it in the secret drawer in the coffee table. He nearly ripped the almost-unnoticeable drawer out as he snatched up his weapon. "You have until I count to three." The knife slid out of the sheath and glinted ominously.

"Slave trade," William seemed calm despite the impending doom. "If I can't have her… Blah blah. It's wonderful that daddy has connections. But you wouldn't know about that, now would you?"

"You're fucked."

"She's not though, tut tut. Not by me, anyway."

Richard only then noticed the black eye Johns was sporting.

"Probably not worth the fight, I'm sure you've had her every way since Sunday."

The next words out of William's mouth were childlike cries for mercy.

* * *

"You like my new look, man?"

William's eyes rolled in his head. Tubes and wires held him together, and monitors beeped to let everyone know he was still –barely- alive. He focused on Richard. Bald. His muscles looked bigger somehow. He was even more terrifying now.

"Check it out, I'm in the paper." He dropped it onto the bed. "It explains why your folks haven't come to visit you yet. You'd think in a hospital this nice, there'd be a little more security. Guess they don't care if a serial killer strolls in… Maybe 'cause it means more work for them? I don't know, I don't understand this shit."

The blonde boy couldn't speak for the tube in his throat, but he groaned and his eyes swelled up with tears.

"Shouldn't have touched her, shouldn't have fucking touched her. You took my woman away, and I took your whole goddamned family away."

The sobbing moans continued. Johns shook, and Riddick seethed.

"I hate you, too, buddy. I'll see you around. I promise."


End file.
